Moments in Another Time
by Mana Yood Sushai
Summary: Seeking to become like his father, Marcus McCloud takes up a life of training with his father's former friend Falco Lombardi. However, during his training, he discovers there is perhaps more to the original Star Fox team than he had ever imagined.
1. Chapter 1

The door slid open, and Marcus entered the Observation Deck, with its large plasteel windows offering a view of the interstellar space that surrounded the starship. The light from distant celestial bodies filtered through, throwing shadows from the furniture and machinery, casting shadows on the wall and bathing the deck in silvery light.

In the room there was another figure, sitting on a rotating chair, leaning back lazily and with his feet on the windows. The falcon sitting on the chair was wearing sunglasses, and looking outside the windows, as if meditating.

"How'd I do?" asked Marcus casually, taking a few steps inside, the door closing behind him. The falcon didn't look at him as he answered.

"You did great, kid," he began, without looking at him. "You did great. I think you may actually be better than your father. But," he added, the corners of his beak curling into a grin. "still not as good as me."

With that, the falcon turned around to face the fox.

"As I said, you did great, except for the fact that you go too fast. Keep it up like that; you'll run of fuel and your Arwing is going to shut down in space and you'll be screwed."

"Yeah, sorry about that, Falco," he replied. "And better than my father? Do you-"

Before Marcus finished, Falco cut him off.

"Don't go getting notions, son. Fox McCloud was famous, but he sure as hell wasn't the best pilot. I would know. I flew with him."

"My father-" began Marcus in defense, but again, the older man cut him off.

"Stuff it. Fox wasn't as great as he thought he was," he said dismissively, and then, more sternly, "and you better not turn out like him."

And with that, the falcon swung his chair to face the windows again, and he put his feet up on them again.

"Go. You have nothing else to do today," he said, waving his wing lazily in a dismissing motion.

The fox nodded, but didn't leave, staying in the observation deck, simply watching the other man.

After a while, the falcon swung around in his chair, scowling.

"You're still here. What is it?"

"Just curiosity," Marcus began, walking towards the falcon. "I thought you were friends with my dad, and yet you constantly bash on him," he said, a little curious, and somewhat angry that Falco was putting down his father.

"I'm curious," he went on, approaching the falcon, who simply stared back at him from behind his sunglasses, his blue eyes looking straight ahead, without any real focus.

"I just want to know what you got 'gainst my dad. I've seen the pictures of you two together, the ones they took when you guys were in the Andross War, all holding each others' shoulders, laughing. I just want to know," he finished.

There was silence, and he stood there triumphantly, expecting the elder falcon to speak. Instead, the avian began to laugh with a throaty chuckle which grew into full-blown laughing.

The fox felt as though he had been deflated, his sense of triumph replaced with some self-pity and shame, and a sense of awkwardness.

"Son," said the bird-man, lowering his sunglasses with his hand so that the fox could get a glimpse of the electric blue eyes behind them."What happened between your father and I is none of your business, capice?"

"And," he continued, his eyes narrowing. "you speak back to me like that one more time, I'll turn this ship around and dump your ass back in Corneria, and you can find yourself a pilot as good as me who'll teach you." And with that, he swung his chair back into the position it had been, facing the large observation windows.

"Now," he repeated, his voice stern, allowing no room for argument. "Get outta here."

Marcus mumbled "Yes, sir," quietly, and left the room as quickly as he could, defeated.

Once the fox had exited the Observation Deck, the falcon swung on his chair around one more time. He sighed, and looked up at the ceiling.

"Damn it," he whispered. "The old times are catching up to me, aren't they? After all i've tried to leave them behind."

And he swung back again, resuming his observation of the great interstellar void.

* * *

Marcus sat down on the small dining hall of the star-ship, which, in actuality, was also pretty small. It contained a small hangar, some five rooms, a mess/dining hall, and an Observation/Command Deck. Pretty small.

He waited a while, trying to hear any noises, alert. After some time passed though, he shrugged, and began eating his meal slowly, savoring the taste of the meat and the thick gravy. His mandibles moved up and down as he chewed, and he sat there eating alone, bored.

He had already eaten his meat and was starting on his side dish of steamed vegetables when he heard approaching footsteps.

_Well, who else but Falco?_ he thought, looking up as the older falcon entered the room.

"Hey," said the avian, walking to the little stove and picking up a plate and serving himself.

"Hiya, Falco," he replied, continuing to chew, enjoying the taste of the steamed vegetables.

The falcon walked back to the tale and pulled up a chair, sitting gown and setting his plate in front of him. Before he started eating, he took of his sunglasses, folding them and putting them to the side of him. Then he picked up his fork, and began to eat in the way the bird-men eat, since they have a beak and no teeth

They ate in silence for the first few minutes, the only sounds being the gentle hum of the generators and the clutter of the forks as they scraped against the plates.

It was finally Falco who spoke up.

"I'm sorry about the incident in the afternoon," he said briskly, not even looking up from his plate of food.

Marcus looked up.

"No, it's alright. I guess it really is none of my business, and besides, it's all in the past."

"You're right; it's none of your business. But I shouldn't have gotten all that angry at you, after all, I was young once, I was just as curious."

"Well, whatever, Falco. I don't mind."

After that, both stopped talking, Marcus standing up and serving himself some more food.

"Who made this food, by the way?" asked Falco, brandishing his fork, which held a piece of meat. "You, or the Servo-bot?"

"The Servo-bot," the fox replied, grinning. "I'm not so good of a cook."

"Oh," said the falcon, as if he hadn't been surprised.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, after flying his Arwing through several obstacles again, Falco congratulated him.

"Better than yesterday; don't use your speed boosts unless you really need them. You're improving." And then, grinning. "There might actually be hope for you, Marcus McCloud."

At the mention of his family name, the fox scowled.

"My whole family's been in the flying business. It's in the blood," he said briskly, taking off his helmet and wiping the fog off of it.

The falcon said nothing, except that his expression suddenly became wooden.

"What I need, Falco," continued the fox eagerly. "is combat training. I think I'm ready, after all, I feel I'm already good at maneuvering-"

Falco cut him off. "You feel you're ready, but you need improving," he said. "Your barrel rolls are too slow, and while you seem to do well in open environments, we need to work on how you maneuver in closed spaces."

"Oh, come on, like I'll ever fly through closed spaces. Besides, when the need arises, I'll do it."

"It's not so easy," he said, starting to become annoyed with the youth's arrogant and casual attitude, which reminded him of Fox McCloud.

"As I said, I'm good at flying, Falco, it's in the bl-"

But by then, the falcon had had enough of it, and had turned around, making his way out of the room.

"Fine then," he said angrily, without turning back. "Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want, if you're so good."

His footsteps made loud noises on the floor, his feathers bristling up as he walked.

"I swear, you McClouds, you're all so god-damned full of yourselves," he muttered, walking away. "You , your father, your grandfather too… Why can't you just…" and the rest, Marcus did not hear.

* * *

"You hate me, don't you Falco?"

The falcon looked up from his plate, looking at the blue fox sitting in front of him, his food untouched.

"No," he said, looking down at his food, picking it, but not eating it. "No, I don't hate you. You just remind me a lot of your father sometimes."

"And you hate my father?"

Falco remained silent, and then spoke, realizing he might as well tell the young fox.

"I didn't always hate him."

"I know. I've seen the pictures, heard the stories. I've seen the 'Falco and Fox, Heroes of Lylat' propaganda posters; seen them at the War museums back in Corneria City. I know you two were friends."

"I remember those days."

"What happened?"

The bird-man looked up, his eyes as cold as ice, glaring.

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because he's my father, and you're my friend."

"Even if I am your friend, and he is your father, even if I told you, there's nothing to it. What happened was between me and him. No need to get you involved."

"I suppose. But I'm curious."

"'Curiosity killed the cat'."

"'And satisfaction brought him back'," replied Marcus, grinning a little at his words, inwardly feeling proud of what he believed was a clever comeback.

Falco glared at him, and Marcus noticed that even though he was older, the falcon still looked handsome and dignified and imposing, as he had been in his youth.

"It's not good to get into stuff one doesn't know about. Besides, it's all over and done," was his reply, standing up and picking up his plate, leaving it in the dish-washer. And he walked away, leaving Marcus by himself.


	3. Chapter 3

After Falco had left, Marcus sat there by himself, and he remembered his childhood.

As a child, he remembered that his father had kept a picture in the living room that had always made him curious. The picture showed both his father and a blue-feathered falcon (obviously Falco) side by side, shoulder-in-arm.

They seemed to be aboard a space station, with gleaming white walls of steel and polymer, with huge roof-windows that showed nothing but darkness and stars. His father was smiling, laughing, and the falcon looked serious and had a scowl on his face, although he also seemed to be trying not to laugh.

"Who's that, dad?" would ask Marcus, when looking at the photo, pointing at the man beside his father.

And his father, ever-famous Fox McCloud, would smile, and answer; "That's an old friend of mine," he'd say simply, remembering his days before marrying and settling down.

"What was his name?"

"Falco Lombardi."

"Why does he look so serious?"

"Because Falco had a very…ah, well, he was a very cold type of person. Didn't like to laugh, he was very serious and all."

"He sounds awful."

And Fox would smile a little, but there would be something in that smile that made it more than simply a smile. It was a grimace, as if something painful was going through his mind, and he was trying to cover it.

"However bad he sounds to you," he'd say. "He was my most trusted friend. Couldn't have asked for a better friend or buddy."

Then there would be silence, and Marcus would see that his father was troubled, and so, he would continue to look at the picture, without asking anymore, wondering who this Falco could be.

And then his father would pick him up, and carry him off to bed.

As he remembered that memory, another one, seemingly out of nowhere and for no reason came to mind. He remembered he had been older by that time, at least ten or eleven.

He had been lying in bed, trying to sleep in spite of the heat, when he heard shouts and yells.

He sighed, knowing his father and mother were engaging in yet another argument.

At first, the yelling had been indistinct, garbled, and he couldn't make anything of it. The words became louder, however, and he supposed his parents were passing through his room door.

He buried himself in his blankets, trying not to hear whatever they were arguing about, more annoyed than afraid.

"You _kept _these photos?" he heard his mom say loudly, and he heard her footsteps as she passed by the hall.

"Krystal, please," said his father, who was closer now. "You'll wake up Marcus-"

"You actually _kept _them!" she said again, and there was the sound of the fast-moving footsteps.

"Krystal, those photos mean nothing. We've been together for twelve years, for god's sakes. "

"Then why keep them?"

"They're just memories, dear-"

"Don't lie to me!"

"They're just memories, nothing more than that."

"Oh, please, that's total crap. I bet you stare at them and wish you were back there again, don't you? Of course you would, after all, you just hate being here, be-"

"Don't you patronize me," whispered his father, his voice low and desperate, trying to assume control, even though there was nothing to assume control of. "Don't. Now, give the photos back to me."

And as soon as he said that, Marcus had heard the sounds of fluttering paper, as if the photos had been thrown into the air for his father to catch.

"Keep them, then. Keep them. But I know why you want to keep them, Fox. It's because you hate me, because you regret marrying me, because you prefer _him-_"

And his father had said something back, and they continued arguing, and in the end, he fell asleep amidst their fighting, even though he had been curious as to what the photos contained.

_Probably footage from the War, _he had thought, and he had carried that belief up to the present.

Coming up from his reverie, he stood up, picking up his plate and dropping it in the dish-washer. He walked out of the small mess hall, heading to his quarters, tired and feeling somewhat guilty for upsetting Falco.

With that in mind, he cast a glance at the door opposite to his, the door that led to Falco's quarters.

He looked at it, guiltily, and then entered his own quarters, locking the door as he entered.


	4. Chapter 4

The day after, the two of them stood in the small hangar, working silently.

The silence was awkward; it was tense and heavy, broken only by the sounds of machinery, or by the occasional short phrase.

Marcus was working at his Arwing, applying a chemical substance to the hull, cleaning the metallic surface by removing the space-dust that accumulated during flights. He wiped with a large cloth, seeing his reflection on the steel.

Behind him, the falcon worked on his own star-fighter, recharging the energy weapons systems, recalibrating the targeting system.

"Pass me the resonator," he said, without any tone or inflection, without looking up from his work.

Marcus bent over and picked up the resonator, which lay on the floor along with other tools. He took it in his hands, sensing its weight, and handed it over to the falcon.

"Thanks," muttered Falco in response, taking the resonator from him.

"Yeah," he replied, turning his attention to wiping the fighter clean.

It was boring work, and even after he finished cleaning it, there would still be more work to be done. He still needed to check the Arwing's thrusters, check the weapons, etc.

_Come on, Falco, talk to me,_ he though, bored and uncomfortable. _This work sure is boring. It'd be more entertaining if you wouldn't be mad and you could talk._

He turned, casting a glance to the falcon, but the falcon was working busily and diligently, his eyes focused on what he was doing.

He turned around again, too embarrassed to start a conversation with Falco, continuing to wipe the hull, despite the fact that it was already clean, too lazy to begin on the thrusters.

"Hey Falco?" he asked, looking at his reflection, looking into his own eyes.

The falcon looked up from his work, suspicious, a scowl on his face.

"Hm?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah," said the falcon, without bothering to hide his annoyance and irritation. "Why?"

"Just asking."

"Stop talking and get working," he replied gruffly, without a further word

And Marcus couldn't think of what to respond.

They continued to work in silence, as before.

Before long, Marcus was tired and bored, aware that he couldn't pretend to keep wiping the hull, and he didn't want to anger an already irritated Falco.

So he set the cloth down, and, resigned, he moved towards the thrusters at the back, working them just as the falcon had taught him. He bent down and looked inside the thrusters, trying to catch something that might be wrong, or that needed repairs or attention.

But he saw nothing.

* * *

Once they had finished, Marcus ate a little, before heading for his quarters, tired.

He walked the length of the small star-ship, and he was sweating slightly, feeling hot and drowsy, smelling like sweat too.

_I need a bath, _he thought as he entered his quarters.

He sat down on his bed, looking at the window to the side of him.

Space was beyond that window, he realized, outer space with all the stars and planets and novae and black holes, and all of infinity. And only a thin (yet resistant) layer of plasteel separated him from all of that, and as he thought that, he was glad he had taken up the training with Falco.

_He's a prick, but he's the best damn pilot in the galaxy, hell, in the Universe._

He sighed, seeing himself as a pilot in the elite Cornerian forces.

It was his dream.

He lay down, closing his eyes, deciding to take a nap first before taking a bath. His back felt sore from arching and bending down so much, as did his arms and legs, from carrying heavy equipment here and there.

He promised himself as he lay there that he wouldn't go to sleep, that he'd just lie there for a few minutes and rest.

However, before he was aware of it, exhaustion took over him, and he fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

At the same time, in his own quarters, sat Falco, his sunglasses on the table.

He was holding what appeared to be a photo in one hand; he hadn't thought of the photo in many years, perhaps twenty years or more.

However, ever since Marcus had brought up the topic of the past between him and his father, Falco had remembered the photo, and had become obsessed with finding it.

He hadn't rested until he had found it, and he eventually did, hiding amongst an old crate of other old pictures, records, and memorabilia, He had taken the entire crate, surprised he had kept the objects in it that were connected to his old life. But for now, he had found the photo, and that was enough, for the moment.

He looked at it, his face inscrutable, and he touched the photo with his feathered hand, trying to be close to what was in it, and for a minute, he thought of tearing it up.

He tried, and managed to make a tiny rip in the upper corner of the photo when he stopped, his heart beating, afraid and guilty of what he had done, of having made the photo less than it had been.

Grabbing the photo with his two feathered hands, he looked at it intently, and he tried to memorize every detail of it, before he set it down, and stood up, walking away.

The photo showed him and Fox holding hands; in it, Falco was smiling, and the fox, whose head was leaning on the falcon's shoulder, was too.

The background seemed to be a park; the two of them were sitting in what appeared to be a park bench, trees and vegetation behind them, and what also appeared to be a walkway of asphalt designed for joggers and walkers could be seen at the bottom of the photo.

In the bottom right corner of the photo read, in yellow text, the date: _2/18/576._

They both looked happy.


	6. Chapter 6

Falco was looking at the photo, remembering and reflecting, when there came a sharp shrill beeping noise from a small pager device attached to his waist.

_Dammit, and now what? _he thought, stuffing the photo he had been holding between the yellowed stained pages of a large thick book titled _A Navigator's Guide to the Fringe Regions. _He stood up from his chair, and with his feet, he moved the box of memorabilia and old pictures down below the bed, hidden from sight.

Cursing, he made for the door, which slid open as he approached, and he began walking to the Observation/Command Deck. As he walked, he reached for the pager, which kept emitting the infernal sound, and shut it off with a press of a button.

The silence was a relief, and he found himself calmer without it.

He reached the Observation/Command Deck in no time, and upon opening the door into it, he saw that one of the terminals was flashing an unmistakable yellow.

_It's a transmission from Lylat space…_

_Damn…_

He walked hurriedly towards it, and placed his hand on the yellow-lighted touch-screen. Instantly, words appeared on the screen, and a cool synthesized female voice from the transmission began to read the message out loud somewhat awkwardly.

"_From Lylat High Command, the Ministry of Commerce, Shipping, and Boundaries-"_

The synthesized voice annoyed him, and, growling, he touched the screen and deactivated the voice, and continued reading by himself the words from the transmission, which stated:

_-from Corneria, 5/6/576._

_The Ministry of Commerce, Shipping, and Boundaries would like to remind Falco Lombardi, owner of the registered starship under the name 'the Einar', that his shipping license must be renewed in five Standard Cornerian days or else be face serious consequences depending on the circumstances (as stated in the Code 2814-3 of the Diatribe of Cornerian Law)_

_We would like to emphasize the need for cooperation, as this incentive was launched in order to reduce piracy and smuggling and other violent illicit activities. If not possible to return to Corneria by specified time, contact the nearest Lylatian Embassy or Consulate._

_Signed, by the head of the Lylat Alliance, Jubal Harshaw_

He re-read the message two times, and after he had done so, settled onto his chair, hands over his eyes, sighing.

"God-damned bureaucracy," he said to himself, putting a hand to the touch-screen, after which the light began to fade from the screen and turned off. He stood up and slowly walked back to his own chambers, already thinking of the logistics, thinking on how to arrive at Corneria, and from which shipping lanes, etc.

He walked back to his quarters, tired, and annoyed, and began working on scheduling his landing with the Cornerian authorities and such.

* * *

Marcus woke up early next morning, just as he always did.

Getting out of his bed, he changed into his clothing rapidly, and went into the adjacent restroom quickly to wet his face, and then exited his quarters.

He waited in the hangar for some time, reclining lazily against his own Arwing and closing his eyes, half-dozing off. However, after what he believed was enough time, he looked around, only to see Falco wasn't there.

_Odd, _he thought. _Falco's not the one to skip a session…And besides, he'd skin me alive if I were late._

Puzzled, he walked out of the small hangar, and headed to the training room, which was also empty.

He waited for what he believed was a reasonable amount of time, and after nothing happened, he walked down to the lenght of the ship to the only other place he could be in: his personal quarters.

He knocked twice on the plasteel door, and after he got no answer, he knocked again three more times, louder. There was no response either, and suddenly, a cold sweat broke across his neck. He became worried, overcome with what he knew was an irrational fear of the unknown.

"Falco?" he asked tentatively into the cold flat door, and he knocked again. He waited a few seconds when, to his surprise (and relief) the door bolted open with a hiss.

At the threshold of it stood the elder falcon: his feathers were in a disarray, dressed only in a thin white undershirt and white checkered boxers that left little to the imagination. His eyes were half closed, and it looked as though he was having a hard time keeping them open.

"Hm, what do you want?" he asked, irritably, glancing up at him.

"Well, uh," Marcus began, shuffling his feet uncomfortably at the sight of his mentor in such a disheveled state, "I thought today was going to be a regular training day, but I suppose not," he added, thinking of walking away in a way that wouldn't be rude.

The falcon seemed dazed for a few moments, as if lost, then slowly, brought his hand to his forehead.

"Oh, damnit," he hissed, shaking his head. "Damnit, I forgot I didn't tell you-"

"Tell me what?"

"Listen," he said, impatiently. "Just listen: meet me in the mess hall in some ten minutes, and I'll explain, _capice? _Now, get out of here, I got to change and shower, I didn't even sleep-"

And then, the door slid closed, leaving the fox standing there, bewildered and confused as to what was going on. He returned to his room for a few minutes, before heading to the mess hall, where he prepared himself a quick meal while he waited.

* * *

The falcon arrived some time later, wearing his red scarf and white flight jacket as usual, as well as his sunglasses (_Why does he even wear them here? _he always wondered to himself). He arrived walking with his casual uncaring pace, as if nothing in the world could pressure him to move faster.

He took a chair opposite to the one Marcus was sitting on, then, bluntly, said:

"We're going back to Corneria."

"Why? What for?" he asked.

"I need to renew my shipping license – some bullshit about 'attempting to reduce piracy and smuggling'."

He nodded in understanding as the falcon went on, with the ever-present frown on his face

"But first, we need to stop for refueling. Now, the closest world from our location is a planet called Mahalalel. We're going to go there, and try to get refueled and back to Corneria as fast as possible."

"Mahalalel?"

"Yeah, kid. It's a good world; not half-bad, even been there once myself during the War. Of course, when I went, it was mostly shelled-out ruins, but even then, you could tell it was the ruins of a beautiful world. Even its name sounds exotic. "

"It does."

"Now, I need to go; I got to set the ship en route to Mahalalel. It'll be about," and he stopped, thinking the calculations and approximations in his head rapidly, thanks to his years of experience, "about eight hours to get there, roughly."

"Alright."

Falco stood up, and calmly began to walk out of the small kitchen/mess hall and into the Control room, before Marcus spoke out.

"Falco?"

"Hm?" asked the falcon, turning around.

"There anything you want me to do?"

The avian grinned good-heartedly for the first time in several days.

"No," he replied. "Don't sweat it. Enjoy your free day."

And he began to walk off when again, he heard the fox's voice once more.

"One more thing, Falco."

He turned around again.

"What?"

"After you renew the license or whatever, you'll still continue to train me, right?" he asked, full of trepidation and worry, fidgeting with his hands.

The falcon looked at him, then slowly nodded.

"Yeah, yeah I will. Why, you worried I was using this as an excuse to dump you?"

He didn't say anything back, but the other gave a short laugh as he walked away.


End file.
